Silence Of The Hand
by Myradream
Summary: A darker rendition of Mara Jade's life as The Emperor's Hand. Very dark. Non/con, abuse, etc. This is very much going to be an M rated story. Also the first one I've published on here, so I am itching for feedback. :)
1. Chapter 1

The screams come from all around her. The swirling mixture of pain and color vivid in her nightmare, threatens to drown her. Time has no meaning, or measure, but much of it passes before she is able to breathe and open her eyes.

She sat up, taking several breaths, before rising from her bed, her emerald eyes pausing for a moment as she saw the sweat where she had been laying, shuddering a little at the effect the nightmares had on her physically. Quickly pushing off the Imperial Issue sleep-suit, not nearly as flattering as the many pieces of expensive lingerie housed in her walk in closet. Being the Emperor's Hands had it's rewards, but nothing came without a cost.

Her jaw tightened as she paused to study her reflection in the full length mirror that stood in front of her bed. The room itself was sterile. White, and more white, the only accents in black and grey. She would bring back things from her missions on occasion, to try and brighten the place, but in her rages, she would find herself incinerating or otherwise destroying the evidence of her career. A career that rose and fell on the number of corpses at her feet. She studied the form of the assassin. Her new curves were a strange juxtaposition to the ferocity in her eyes. The damp auburn curls, hair still mussed and wild from the terrors that met her in the night, a sharp contrast against the cream of her flesh. She had just turned 16, and had spent the last eight years of her life under the thumb of the Empire. Learning to better serve her Master. She sighed, her eyes traveling to the messy hair, and she hurried o the attached bathroom, starting the water for a shower. She glanced at the clock, 17:00 hours. She had time. Her lips quirked with a faint smile, grateful that she wouldn't have to hurry through her ritual.

She spoke to the computer, drowning on the music selection she wanted. The violent score of a Corellian ballet. The music was angry, and when it wasn't violent, and crashing percussion, it was melancholy and soaring. It spoke to the deepest part of herself, and she turned the volume up all the way.

Her next stop as the music filled the bed chamber and attached bathroom, was at the bar. Mara had a habit of self medicating. She'd befriended a mechanic, and through a mutually beneficial relationship, she acquired a variety of mind numbing substances, and he acquired a number of mind blowing stories of pleasure shared with the Untouchable Mara Jade. He hadn't even seen the danger coming, and she had been careless, and unaware that her Master was aware of everything that she did. He saw everything, and she would learn it all too soon.

She lined up the fluorescent powder along the black lacquer of the bartop, smiling at the comforting smell that filled the room, spices of the Nandorian region. Without ceremony, and unaware of the terrible cost her mechanic had paid for this delivery and all of the kindnesses he had shown her, and more for the kindnesses she had shown him, she bent her nose to the countertop, a fingertip pushing a nostril shut, as the other snorted the bright, crystallized powder. She coughed, after taking it all in, chuckling a little, at the way the cough tickled. The powder working quickly.

She made her way into the shower, humming along, and turning the water up, so that the water was scalding. Enjoying the steam as it surrounded her, coding for her favorite scent, a flower that bore her name, that grew only near waterfalls in her homeland. She closed her eyes as the scent surrounded her, and blinked back the onslaught of emotion that came with it. Had she her choice, she would have happily used the Death Star's shampoo's, conditioner's and soaps, but her Master had his preferences in all things, and she was always to smell the way he wanted her too, and for some reason, he enjoyed for her to smell like ~home~.

She took a deep breath, and let the powder coarse through her and settle her frayed nerves as she prepared for her evening lesson. The Emperor had summoned her, and she knew what that meant. She knelt in the bottom of the shower, listening to the music of the dark ballet. He would punish her, she knew. For what? She wasn't certain. He always found a reason, and his punishments were varied, but always left him smiling, and her with more reasons to fear sleep and the inevitable nightmares that came with the night.

She finished washing herself, and her hair, using the foam that removed all of the hair she didn't want on her body, and still had time left to have another bump of the mechanics powder, before returning her attention to her appearance. Picking a simple black mesh bodysuit in lieu of underthings, positioning her assets in it, just so as she slid herself into the black bodysuit that was her approved uniform for the created position of Emperor's Hand. She zipped it up, careful of her flesh, and the bit of fabric separating herself and the flight suit. Gazing at her reflection for a moment, continuing with applying makeup, and forcing her hair into an intricate braid, he had insisted she learn. Her eyes flickered to the clock, and she sighed. Muttering to herself.

"Show time."

With one last glance, and a forced smile, she typed her access code, to leave her room, and entered the claustrophobic hallway. Ignoring the gazes and occasional whistles or comments from lowly stormtroopers and on up the chain of the command. She let her hips sway as she made her way toward her Master's quarters, the click of her heeled boots echoing, her perpetual companion as she made her way through the maze of hallways, and transport compartments, finally finding herself in the first of several security stations. Making her way by rote, through them all, before finding herself with only one door between his quarters and herself. Taking a moment to steel herself and prepare, she instantly fell to her knees when his crackly voice filled the hallway, cold and unyielding.

"Enter, child. You have kept me waiting. I do not like to wait."

The door slid open, and he was before her in a moment, his fingertips sparking with blue lightning, and in his expression a mixture of hunger, anger, but most of all, promise of the pain to come.


	2. Chapter 2

The Emperor let the lightning from his wrinkled right fingertip jump, and he enjoyed watching the way that his pupil struggled to avoid making a sound of pain as her body thrashed, and contorted itself into strange positions, as if she could avoid the reach of his power. His dry, aged laugh crackled like the sound of the lightning he was producing. He with drew his attention, and hissed one word of direction.

"Crawl."

He enjoyed watching her struggle with the command. Logging every pause, for punishment later. How many lessons would it take to truly break her spirit? Something in him hoped the day never came. It was far too enjoyable, watching her fight back and crushing her pride and defense, little by little under his heel. Backing away, to let the flower bloom once again, before returning his attentions to destroy it again. How long, he wondered, would she thrive under his black thumb?

It took her a moment to gather the strength to do as she had been ordered. Her heart pounding in her chest, catching her breath, and as soon as she was lucid, she began to follow through, less she be coaxed by another wave of the agony of the lightning. Of all of the punishments she had endured, it was the one she loathed the most.

He licked his chapped lips, following her crawling form with his milky eyes, the orbs flashing their demonic red. She kept her body close to the ground, as her hands chafed along the cold, jagged stone he had chosen for his bedchamber. The rough stones served many purposes, and he enjoyed the effect of the choice on the shiny black fabric of her body suit. Along her short journey she'd ripped open a knee on her flightsuit, and there were plenty of signs of wear. Yet another reason to punish her. He ceased her crawling with three words.

"Into your position."

He watched her carefully as she moved her limbs, so she was kneeling entirely before him, laying her face so close to the ground that the tip of her nose just barely made contact, her arms in an unnatural position of supplication, taut at her side, her hands raised in supplication, and her eyes lowered in his presence. He recalled her earlier years, before she had dared to defy him. As a girl, if she had pleased him with one of her missions, or the studies he had provided, she would move into this position, and he would reward her with candy, or a toy. She was the only employee of the Empire, before reaching double digits.

He had chosen her for many reasons. Not least of which was her strong ability in the Force. He had been molding her, little by little, into a dangerous assassin, with strong Sith influences. Her beauty had come as a welcome surprise as she had grown. It wasn't many years into her tutelage that he had become surprised that the stirrings that bothered lesser men still existed in his loins. It was a few years ago that she had been given the title of "The Emperor's Hand".

The name always made him smirk. The Title had been invented, and was a mocking reminder in her every day life of the carnal lessons he had taught her. She acted as his hand in all things that he wished, and when it wasn't assassinating his enemies, and going on fact finding missions to further his agenda, he had physical needs that she tended too. He had quipped once, that perhaps he should change her title to the Mouth of the Emperor, or the Cunt of the Emperor, but her title remained, though her duties had escalated from the days when she was a child, kneeling before him awaiting a sweet for her successful completion of a Force game, he had invented to test and strengthen her abilities. His reminiscing behind him, he recalled that he had something to place in that hand. Something not very sweet at all.

He watched her twitch as he removed from his robe, a cut pony tail, dark, and still smelling of the grease and oil of the docking bay, where it's former owner had worked, he placed it firmly into her left hand. Enjoying her discomfort, feeling the fear emanating from her body, wondering what it was. Murmuring quietly.

"It's time for a test, Mara. Reach into the Force. I want to hear the last words of the man whose hair this belonged too from your lips. You may examine your.. present."

She sat up with trepidation, and he took great enjoyment of the look of horror on her face as she realized whose ponytail she held. Just another example of how the Mechanic had gone against the Empire in every way that he could. Purposely ignoring something as easy to follow as the code for appropriate hair lengths for those in his employ. Between that, and the illicit drugs he had brought onto the Ship, his death was completely justified. The fact that the man had touched his property, had sealed his fate, and the suffering that came with it.

The Emperor had no problem, forcing Mara to utilize her new feminine charms and wiles, but it was only under his order. He decided who touched her, and when. The idea of her taking pleasure in that way irritated him more then he was willing to admit. The actions had not been sanctioned, and when he was done tormenting her with his little game, he had plans of torture like she had never seen. He was not a man to be defied.

He watched mercilessly as the tears streamed down her cheeks, and she mumbled in her grief. "NONO! Ciaran, why!? Why would you hurt him!?" The obvious reasons, not revealing themselves to her amid her sobs. And he hissed.

"He took what is mine. You do not have any right to give anything away. Now use the Force, or suffer the consequences. " The blue lightning of his fingertips lit with a blinding light, the crackling louder then before. He watched her as she grasped through the waves of the Force, fighting off the onslaught of emotion, to the task she'd been given. And after about a minute she dropped the familiar lock of hair, and moved to draw her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she gasped the words, he'd wanted her to know.

" Tell Mara I love her. Tell her I love her."

The words spilled from her lips, raw and aching as she spoke them. Tears streaming down her cheeks, as she thought of him tortured and dying, and sending his love to her. It was too much to bear, and she began to openly weep, her body shaking with the cries.

He gave her a moment to her grief, enjoying the familiar need growing below his black robes. His smile grew, and he murmured. "His last wish was granted, and now you will pay."

She began to scream even before the lightning hit her, and he enjoyed the way it splayed him in front of her, and he took care to make certain that every nerve ending received the attention it so richly deserved.

Tonight she would fight to survive, and he was certain that only the bacta tank and the skills of his medical team would bring her back, so she could suffer again and again.

He frowned as he watched her lose consciousness before him, her agonizing screams cut short. He wouldn't be denied his pleasure yet, and he continued his assault on her with the Force. His cackles, the only sound to accompany that of the lightning attacking her tortured flesh.


	3. Chapter 3

Mara spent the next several days recuperating in a bacta tank. The Emperor had been merciless with his lightning attacks. Mercifully, she had been drugged and unconscious for the worst of the healing. Her nerves had take a great deal of use, and even now as she dressed in a clean flight suit, she found some of her muscles were involuntarily twitching. Her eyes narrowed as she struggled with the zipper. Finally overcoming it and sitting on the side of the hospital cot where she had spent the last night of her hospital incarceration.

Struggling with her boots. Lacing them up, slowly, but accurately. She had been warned by the chief medical officer onboard that she would need to move ore slowly, and that restrictions had been placed on her that would make her usual duties lighter. She was assured that her good health would return, but that after such an incident it was necessary to take time for the process.

Tying the laces on her boots triumphantly. A smile flickering on her lips. Her fingers were capable of tying a knot, and that was much less complicated then pulling the trigger of her blaster. Her saber would have to wait, she realized. Her hand eye coordination was effected just enough to make the operation of a light saber hazardous. A blaster would do, and she could return to her usual duties.

Rising with barely a wince and approaching the door. Entering her identification number in the combos, and gazing at the door as it slid open. Stepping out into the bright and sterile hallway of the Death Star. Regretting about halfway to her quarters that she had dismissed the transit vehicle she had been offered for the trip. Slowing down, and ignoring the glances of derision from those that passed her on the way. Against her every wish she discovered that for the last portion of her trip she needed to brace herself against the wall.

Finding herself at her door. Typing in her access code and stepping inside. Moving directly to the bar in her main sitting room, pouring herself a full glass of Corellian Ale. The taste was familiar to what she associated as home. Moving next to the drawer in her bathroom where all of the death sticks and other illicit drugs she had gathered on her journey. Grimacing when she found it empty. Some intergalactic curses slipping out of her mouth.

Turning to head into her bedroom where she kept the backups. Opening the door that led into her bedroom and a gasp escaping her lips when she discovered the tall, hulking and mechanized apprentice of The Emperor clearing out the last of those from the safe in her bottom drawer where she kept her reserves. He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. One of the benefits of his mask. Mara's response was easier to interpret. Grabbing the table lamp from her bedside table and hurling it in his direction.

Vader deflected the attack with ease. A flick of his wrist, throwing the lamp to the ground a few feet from him. His voice punctuated by the heavy breathing of his mask. " Do you have a death wish, girl?"

Her eyes narrowed, and her words were clipped with irritation and righteous fury. " You're the one in my quarters without permission! Where are my things?!"

His dry chuckle unsettled her. " Jade, the Emperor sent me here to prepare your room for your return. All contraband material has been removed your safety. " She stared at him, shaking her head a little. " I earned the sticks and medicine myself. Even paid for some of it with credits. You can't just take it away! I need it! " Vader shook his head, murmuring between his mechanical breaths. " It has been decided. ".

And he swept through her bedroom, and she sat on her bed watching helplessly as he found all of her secret locations where she had stored the drugs she found herself needing more and more to cope with her current career and all of the problems that came with it. Hugging her pillow close to her. The only location she hadn't checked yet to see if he had found her supply there.

His sweep of the room complete, his boots clanked as he approached. She raised her eyes to him, muttering. " Get out. " Vader watched her for a moment. Patting her head condescendingly, and adding. "You can keep the pillow. You owe me one. " And he turned, leaving her alone to her misery and she listened as his heavy steps carried him out of her bedroom, and quarters. The sound of the door closing drove her to movement. Pulling the case off of her pillow and then unzipping the compartment within her pillow.

Tears flooding her emerald eyes as she gazed at the veritable wasteland of her drug supply. The sticks inside the pillow had been pilfered. He had left her one of each of those that had been housed there. Where before she had been hospitalized there had been hundreds of sticks and capsules, for her to medicate away any of her feelings, she was now left with only seven. Her hand moving to stroke over the encased powders of varying colors. Allowing herself in the safety of her own room to cry. Her tears quickly turning into sobs that racked and shook her.

After over an hour of crying, her mind spiraling to darker and darker locations, she opened the drawer of her bedside table, prepared to out the blaster to her temple and pull the trigger. The tears had come and gone, and she had been left with a cold peacefulness. The knowledge that she could take herself at from this place. Freedom from the cruel chains that had her was simple a trigger squeeze away from being over.

Reaching into the drawer, her brow furrowed as her hand move around, feeling nothing but cold wood against it. Her eyes narrowing as she pulled the drawer out completely. Finding only a folded note. Taking a heavy breath, and unfolding the paper. Reading it with a sinking feeling. The neat italicized print was brief, but to the point. ' All weapons have been confiscated pending a psychological evaluation. Are you having uncomfortable feelings? Dial 099 from any Empire comlink for more assistance."

Crumpling the paper and throwing it to the ground. A hiss escaping her lips. Returning her attention to the death sticks that remained, despairing that none of the combinations of those left would provide the sweet and permanent release she was seeking. Deciding on the purple and gold powders. The sedation that they provided was needed. Once she had access to her blaster and her ship she could be done with this nightmare she decided.

No one who cared for her was safe, that had been proven time and time again, but never with such painful and alarming clarity as the death of her favorite mechanic, dealer and lover had illuminated. It was one thing when those being hurt were only her targets and herself. Now that she had lost her only friend, how could she carry on? She wouldn't, she decided. Without her skills, the Empire would be less capable of destruction.

Bowing her head as she snorted up the familiar powders. Curling up on her bed and staring at the ceiling as it started to pulse and vibrate as the drugs did their work. Closing her eyes and surrendering to the sensation of abandon, her fears dissipating with her pain.


End file.
